


Snow Falls

by evvykurler



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Eve, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 20:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evvykurler/pseuds/evvykurler
Summary: Based on the prompt “Busy parents Katniss and Peeta finally find time to themselves during the holidays” submitted by katnissdoesnotfollowback for The Hunger Games 2018 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange.





	Snow Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/gifts).



> A very Merry Christmas to katnissdoesnotfollowback! It was an honor to write for you and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I do not own The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and this story is not for profit.

“Don’t go any higher, Sage!”

My daughter happily ignores me and climbs up one more branch in the tree.

“Sage, I’m serious!”

My other daughter, Holly, is hanging off the lowest branch, swinging her feet. Her breath creates little puffs of white in the chilly air. Almost all of her black hair is tucked into her favorite hat, which is purple with a little pom-pom on top.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Peeta and I agreed that the twins should run off some energy before bedtime. Peeta said he needed to finish wrapping presents, so now I’m wrangling our hyperactive girls who decided that they wanted to climb the willow tree in our backyard.

I pull my hat down tighter over my head and peer up at Sage, who is singing a little tune to herself. It sounds like “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” although the lyrics as sung by a six-year-old aren’t quite the same. She’s just slightly out of my reach less than ten feet off the ground, but they’re still so small that I get nervous when they climb too high.

“Don’t make me come up there,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. She still hasn’t made a move to come down, and I can’t grab her from the ground.

Fine. Up I go, then.

I’m halfway to her when I hear Sage whisper “uh-oh” when she sees how close I’m getting.

“I’m almost there, missy!” I say, although she’s started giggling and I can’t stay mad. She tries to move her arm away from me, but I grab it.

“Gotcha!” I shout triumphantly.

I’m about to haul her down the tree when the second-story window opens above us, and the blond head of my husband pokes out.

“Time to set out the cookies for Santa!”

Any interest in tree climbing vanishes as Holly races inside the house while Sage starts to scramble down the tree trunk. _Finally_ , I think to myself, and climb down with her. At the base, Sage sneaks her mitten into mine. I smile and squeeze her hand.

We walk inside to see Holly bouncing around the kitchen island. Peeta’s laid out a dozen different treats that he baked over the last few weeks. I sit on a barstool and nibble on a chocolate mint cookie while the girls load up a plate for Santa.

“We can’t forget Santa’s reindeer, right Holly?” asks Peeta. Holly shakes her head and grabs a bag of carrots out of the fridge. In her other hand, I see she’s also grabbed a carton of orange juice.

“Uh…what’s the orange juice for?” I ask her. She looks at me with a smile that lights up her blue eyes.

“It’s for Santa!” she says, and I laugh and shake my head.

“Santa likes milk,” Peeta says gently. “It goes with the cookies.”

Actually, what Santa really likes is whiskey, which is what Peeta and I drank with the cookies last year on Christmas Eve after the girls went to bed. But I don’t mention that, obviously.

“I think he likes orange juice,” says Sage, coming to her twin’s aid. Holly nods as if that settles it, and she pours out a mug of juice. Holly and Sage march to the living room and set their offerings down on the coffee table. Peeta and I look at each other, and I know we’re both calculating how much sleep we might be able to get tonight. Last year we were up so late wrapping presents that we got about six hours of sleep before the twins woke us up on Christmas morning. If we can beat that this year, I’ll consider it a victory.

“You want to finish the wrapping and I’ll run bath time?” he asks.

“Thank you,” I sigh, and kiss him on the cheek, glad for the reprieve from Christmas Eve energy. I head upstairs and hear Peeta corralling the girls in the living room.

At the top of the stairs I’m stopped by the sight of the girls’ suitcases, already packed in their room. Sage’s is bright purple and Holly’s is decorated with princesses, and they were very proud that they had packed them all by themselves. I can feel my throat grow tight and I rush past them down the hall. I shut the bedroom door behind me and lose myself in wrapping the last of the presents, before I do something ridiculous like cry over tiny suitcases.

The bedtime routine takes longer than usual, but Peeta manages to tuck the girls into bed before ten o’clock. We finish the wrapping together, and I realize how tired I am.

“Long day, huh?” Peeta must see the exhaustion on my face.

“I always forget how excited they get for Christmas,” I say, and put the final piece of tape on a gift for Holly. “How do they have so much energy?”

Peeta laughs and before I know it, we’re tucked into bed ourselves. I can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of my eye as I stare up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep instead of Santa.

But much like the girls, I have trouble sleeping that night.

I toss and turn until sometime past midnight, when I finally decide maybe some tea will help me sleep. Peeta is sleeping beside me with his head turned towards me. I gently brush back a piece of his soft hair and resist the urge to kiss his forehead. I don’t want to wake him, so I move quietly out of our bed and down the staircase into the kitchen.

I’m about to put the kettle on when the winking of the Christmas tree lights draw my attention. Usually we turn off the lights before bed, but on Christmas Eve they glow all night. It’s the only bright thing in the dark living room, with twinkling lights reflected on gold and silver glass baubles. I feel the soft carpet under my feet as I walk into the living room, with all the presents laid out carefully beneath the tree.

I touch Sage’s stocking hung by the fireplace, brushing my fingers over her embroidered name. Holly’s stocking is right beside it, equal in size. Once, I caught Sage whispering to her teddy bear about how Holly was her best friend. I wrap my arms around my chest and sink down by the cold fireplace, next to the Christmas tree. I close my eyes and breathe in the evergreen scent. Besides my own breath, the entire house is in a rare moment of total silence.

Sage and Holly’s bags are packed, although they won’t leave until the day after Christmas. It sounded like a great idea when Peeta’s parents called, begging us to let the girls visit them in Vermont for the rest of Christmas break. They said we deserved a break, and that morning when I agreed over the phone, it was right in the middle of the before-school rush which is usually when I question most of my life decisions. It sounded like a great idea then, and I bet it was no accident they chose that time to call. Now I wonder how the summer evaporated so fast, leading to little suitcases all packed.

I circle my arms around my knees and stare up at the tree. There are greater separations ahead. A few days at their grandparents’ house is nothing compared to a summer away. I don’t even want to think about after high school. I used to be so honest with myself, but now I take comfort in some little lies. Like how I pretend that I will get used to them leaving.

My eyes are stinging and I don’t dare to look at the tree, where I could catch sight of my reflection in an ornament. Instead, I hug my knees closer and sigh.

I hear him before I feel him, which is how it’s always been. Peeta’s warm hand is on my back and then he’s sitting next to me, bundling me into his lap. He just holds me, sometimes kissing the top of my head, as I bury my hands in his soft sweater.

I can practically hear him thinking, wondering if he should say anything, wondering what’s troubling me. I bet he has a few good guesses. I speak first, which I think shocks both of us.

“We should probably eat the cookies.”

I point towards the coffee table. Peeta pulls back and looks at me, confused, and then looks to where I’m pointing. The cookies and orange juice placed out by the girls sit untouched. In our tired haze we set out the presents but forgot to eat Santa’s snacks before bed.

He chuckles, and kisses my cheek. “Okay.”

I scramble off his lap and grab the tray, then set it down between us. He picks up a gingerbread cookie and then puts it back down again.

“They’ll be all right,” he says.

He’s completely serious, and I realize it’s rare that I see him without a smile.

“I know,” I say, somewhat grouchily. I know what he’s not saying. Of course the girls will be all right. He’s not really worried about that.

I take a cookie, not meeting his eyes. It’s delicately frosted with a snowflake. Every Christmas Peeta makes a special batch of snowflake sugar cookies with the girls. The first Christmas he did it, the twins cried because they couldn’t copy his flawless frosting technique. He’d calmed them down by insisting that they were doing it perfectly – every snowflake is unique, after all.

I feel myself tearing up again and look up at the ceiling so the tears don’t spill. The ceiling has a small speck of green, and I squint to make it out.

“Peeta, what…” I glance at him, and all signs of his serious face are gone. He’s just grinning, and I catch a glimpse of the young man I met so many years ago.

“Mistletoe.” He raises his eyebrows. “You know what that means.”

I laugh. As if we need an excuse to kiss each other.

He always manages to do this, always makes me feel better. Somehow my worries about the future melt like snow in the spring.

Peeta stands slowly, and offers both his hands to help me up. On my feet, he pulls me close. But before he can kiss me, I catch his face in my hands, running a thumb over the stubble on his cheek. I need him to know.

“I’ll be okay,” I tell him, looking him right in the eyes. He nods, and I see his shoulders relax.

“I know,” he whispers, and that serious look is back. I don’t like it, so I lean in and close my eyes. There’s at least one way I can make it disappear.

I kiss him, and I can feel him shiver. I’m gratified to know I still have such an effect on him.

He deepens the kiss, fingers gripping my waist.

When we fall apart, breathless, the view from the living room window makes me stop. The snow is gently, silently falling on our street. I never cared much for it, but on this night of all nights, it stirs some sentiment inside me. The snow caresses the road and blankets the cars, like the whole world being gently tucked into bed.

I will check on the girls before Peeta and I go to sleep for the night. I’ll hear their quiet breathing and smile because Sage sleeps with her stuffed animals tucked in right next to her, while Holly likes to sleep on top of all the blankets, even in the winter. I’ll leave the door open just a little, the way they like it.

I’ll check on them, but right now I’m here. Peeta and I stand silently, hands clasped. I can wait a bit longer. I’m happy with him now, as the snow gently falls.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to my wonderful (non-Ao3) beta.


End file.
